Wolf Worm

My captor had a much larger lantern in one hand and another basket over his arm. He set the basket down on the step with exaggerated care, reached into his vest, and pulled out a gun.

The barrel winked in the orange light. I stared at it blankly. My brain said Prussian blue and burnt umber for the metal, antimony orange for the reflections. This was not helpful under the circumstances.

“Move away from him, Miss Wilson,” Phelps said, leveling the gun at Saul. “He’s dangerous.”

“He’s chained to a table.”